this hope is treacherous, this daydream is dangerous
by daisymeadowss
Summary: "This is how it always goes." Gansey swallows and rasps out, "Ready to tempt fate then?" gansey, blue mistletoes


Blue proudly squares her shoulders and draws herself up to her full height - it might seem evanescent but Gansey is unconsciously leaning down towards her and now she only has to crane her neck _slightly_ to see his face. The waft of mint is stronger up close, mingled with something less distinctive or powerful but still decidedly Gansey - the smell of old libraries, old vinyl seats, and freshly baked cookies.

The latter is probably due to their adventurous little trip to the Ganseys' kitchen where they pretended to be super secret spies in order to steal a tray of Christmas cookies and devour them giggling in the hallways while they wandered the almost castle-like Gansey mansion. It was all rather childish and silly but behind the playful pretense lay a real desire to avoid everyone in this house, from family to partygoers. The stuffy ballroom, - _ballroom,_ Blue had scoffed, unable to believe that people actually had ballrooms in their houses - the steady influx of guests, the polite but fake smiles and curious questions, _("Do you have plans for college?" "Are you two a couple?")_ the forced laughs and slightly rude jokes people made when they found about the Sargent family business; it was all too much. Gansey, behind all his pompous facade, hated it too - she knew him well enough to tell. It only took one subtle hint from Blue to convince him to escape, and he whisked her away while no one was looking, into the closest available hallway that was supposedly closed off to guests - but Gansey wasn't a guest anyway.

Every time footsteps sounded somewhere close to where they were hiding, Blue and Gansey ducked down another hallway, another passage - their numbers were endless in the enormous mansion. Activity in this wing was limited, the quiet reassuring, and Blue suspected the only reason Gansey hadn't yet steered her into a quiet little room where chances of being caught were even less was because they both thought the idea of being alone in a room together was far too dangerous to consider.

Now, Blue slides her hand up his midnight blue vest and holds tightly onto his shoulder. There is a slight chance this is even more dangerous but statistics of their previous rendezvous say they won't stop. This is how it always goes: her poisonous mouth gets too close to its designated victim, they manage to stop just in time. Blue's world is thrown off balance. Gansey's breathing fails him entirely. Then, the onslaught of pain coated in longing. It's a sort of routine; you can get used to it.

And doesn't it hurt now to be confronted so cruelly with what she can't have? The mistletoe above them, a poorly timed coincidence, seems to laugh in her face. _'Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him,'_ it taunts. _'You can't, can you?'_ Blue imagines it saying. If they were anyone else, just a boy and a girl, not Blue, not Gansey, she could reach up to peck his cheek and he could kiss her forehead in return, or he could give her a quick kiss on the lips, casually and nonchalantly because they would be doing this every day and they would be too used to it to feel shocks of electricity surging through their bodies anymore, or he could kiss her deeply in a way that never grows old and never grows ordinary and always keeps her on her toes.

But they _are_ Blue and Gansey and no amount of Christmas miracles will change that. She doesn't know why it feels worse than usual with a mistletoe hanging above their head but it does. What a terrible tradition. Just another thing she's missing out on.

Blue casts her eyes down to her shoes but keeps her hand on Gansey's shoulder. She can't possibly blink away the sudden onslaught of tears so she stops trying, afraid to spill them over. Instead, she keeps her gaze on her black slingback wedges, studying them like they're just the most fascinating thing ever.

She aches with this desire. _It's unfair, really,_ she thinks, and a sliver of anger flares up at the thought. The universe shouldn't have made him her true love if it didn't want to see them together, she decides. How fickle of the universe.

Gansey takes her free hand, his palm warm and slightly clammy. She can feel his pulse jump erratically and her own soars, anger forgotten. His voice is gentle with an edge, strained and unceremonious in the way it is when he's holding himself back.

"They're artificial," he offers quietly.

"Artificial," Blue dully mirrors. She looks up despite knowing her watery eyes will give her away; she doesn't have the energy to pretend in front of him. Gansey sighs, and because he's Gansey and unable to watch from the sidelines if one of his friends is miserable, he draws her against his chest like she expected, and wanted, him to. Blue presses her face into his warm, solid chest, hiding from view, while he strokes her back. The scent of clean and recently ironed suit assaults her nose but she doesn't move. His arms around her feel secure; it does a strange job of both making her forget and hyperaware of the mistletoe above them. They haven't moved yet and now Blue doesn't want to.

But she lifts her head, slowly, feeling steadier and more grounded to reality, and strangely, like she's energized by his soothing aura. Gansey's calm helps her be calm and she remembers, sensibly, that there's no use crying about what you can't have. Just take what you can.

Her confidence boosts when she remembers that today is not the day she kills him - they're free to yearn and ache and hurt for each other. They can have this moment; she cups his cheek and brings her face closer to his, noses brushing. Gansey gasps into her mouth and leans in, magnetized and moving towards her like being pulled by gravity. He lets her lead; she draws a finger down his cheek, slowly, softly, and sighs into his mouth and swallows his breath at the same time, and he follows, sliding his hands to her waist, exhaling shakily. His eyes close but Blue's remain open, watching his eyelashes flutter, his throat bob, his head tilt towards her unconsciously. His tongue darts out to wet his lips - she doesn't know if he does it on purpose or not but her gasp is loud and embarrassing. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her forehead to his, wriggling closer, trying to crawl into his skin. She's going to drown in his scent.

They breathe in tandem until Blue breaks the silence, her voice tinged in unspoken grief, almost too quiet to hear. "This is how it always goes."

Gansey swallows and rasps out, "Ready to tempt fate then?"

Blue's smile is bitter. "Not quite yet."


End file.
